


Scar Tissue

by moriartyismyking



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Brookstrade, Domestic Violence, M/M, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriartyismyking/pseuds/moriartyismyking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all scars are visible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scar Tissue

**Author's Note:**

> AN: The focus of this story was intended to be the long term psychological repercussions of living with the constant threat of violence, during and after the abuse rather than the actual acts of violence themselves. The after effects in this story include: anxiety, unnecessary secrecy, trust issues and fear of conflict. 
> 
> Warnings: (allusions to) domestic violence.

It had been a long and stressful day for PC Hooper. She had been patronised, spat at and been described as ‘the plain one’ all in one shift and she was looking forward to going home, taking a long hot bath and curling up on the sofa with her new kitten and a good book. There was just one thing that she had to do first. She knocked on the door to CID and let herself in, checking to see if her uncle was in there. She found him at his desk, staring intently at the screen whilst sipping his coffee and, by his wince, she guessed it was probably stone cold. There was nobody else in the office to hear and so she didn’t bother using his official job title; it always felt wrong when she had to.

“Uncle Greg?” Molly used her best wheedling tone and pulled up a chair to the desk.

The detective smiled and put the mug down, giving the probationer his full attention.

“Molls, what can I do for you?”

“That domestic disturbance on Kelley Road, the suspected spousal abuse case,” the police constable paused, unsure how to continue, “would you have a word with the victim for me? I’ve tried but he won’t talk.”

Greg sighed and scolded her lightly, “What have I told you about getting emotionally involved? If he won’t talk then there’s nothing we can do.”

“Please Uncle Greg? We’ve been called there three times this month and he’s just scared, I know I would be too but he might listen to you.” She made her best puppy dog eyes at the detective.

Molly had a big heart, probably too big for her own good but Greg knew she wouldn’t ask him to do this unless she thought there was a chance he would succeed. He wasn’t a hard hearted man by any means and he’d help anyone who needed it but, unfortunately, he had learned that not everybody wanted to be saved.

“Leave me the address and I’ll see what I can do. I’m not promising you anything mind.”

Molly grinned before leaning over and kissing the detective on the cheek, “You’re the best.”

Greg smiled back at her, shooing her out of the office because her shift had finished more than an hour ago. She was the closest thing to a daughter he was ever likely to have and he was proud of her. He’d always wanted children but his wife hadn’t and now that he was divorced it just seemed hopeless.

The detective continued typing the report he had been working on for an hour or so before he decided to take a break from it in order to look at the Kelley Road incident, it was his day off anyway so his time is his to spend as he wished. It seemed fairly standard; next door neighbour reports raised voices and sounds consistent with a struggle, calls 999 and when the officers appear, as if by magic, everything is hunky dory thank you very much sorry to waste your time.

Greg’s digital watch beeped to indicate that it was 7 o’clock and so he switched the computer terminal off and grabbed his jacket; if he wanted to call at Kelley Road he would have to do it soon.

The drive didn’t take many minutes and, before he even knew what he was going to say, the detective was knocking purposefully on the door. Sometimes though, Greg found it was better to listen to people rather than simply launch into some great monologue about how they should or shouldn’t live their lives and besides, there was always the chance that this really was all a big misunderstanding  
although he doubted it. The most logical conclusion was usually the correct one in his experience.

The door opened a fraction, only partially revealing a dark haired man who the detective recognised immediately. They had met a few months before when Rich had been played the role of a murder victim in a police reconstruction but Greg had only known him by his stage name of Richard Brook, he’d had no reason to connect him to the ‘Richard Moriarty’ he’d read about in the file. Greg tucked his warrant card back in his pocket, he wouldn’t be needing it.

“Hi, Rich,” He tried to keep his tone light, “Is it alright if I come in and have a quick chat?”

“Of course, it’s nice to see you again, Greg. I hope this doesn’t mean there’s another unsolved murder?” The Irishman teased gently.

The detective didn’t miss the way the brunette’s eyes searched up and down the empty street skittishly to check nobody was watching before he closed the door slightly in order to remove the security chain and let the detective in.

”Thankfully not. Although, after all the calls we got after your reconstruction if there is, I’ll be straight round here,” Greg was out of his comfort zone suddenly; it was one thing having this talk with a perfect stranger but it seemed like a much more daunting task to have it with someone he was acquainted with, “Is there, uh, somewhere private we can talk?”

“There’s nobody else at home,” Rich told him, opening the door to the front room, “Seb’s gone out.”

As he crossed the threshold, Greg noticed a fist shaped dent in the door panel but he kept his expression neutral. The flat was remarkably clean and tidy, much more so than his own and Greg was hardly ever home to mess it up.

“Look if this is about earlier, I already told your colleagues it was just a misunderstanding. Mrs Bailey next door called you, she’s a sweet old lady but she’s a terrible worrier.”

“Should she be worried?” Greg asked, regretting his bluntness as he saw Rich’s expression become suddenly guarded.

“I was just making some tea would you like some, Greg?”

“Please.” The detective smiled, following the actor into the kitchen and immediately noticed the clock that hung on the wall was a giant four leafed clover.

“So what part of Ireland are you from? My Grandmother was Irish, it’s a lovely part of the world.”

“Dublin originally.”

Greg nodded, “Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes,” Rich admitted as opened the cupboard and got out another mug, “I miss the people. I still have family there but I don’t get to see them much because it’s kind of an expensive trip. They send me silly souvenirs though but most of them are in boxes because Seb hates them, he says they’re tacky.”

“I thought that was the point of souvenirs? To be tacky.”

The Irishman laughed, “I suppose you’re right, I’ll have to tell him that.”

The detective watched Richard as he made the tea and accepted the mug gratefully when it was ready, hoping he had done a little to undo the unease he had caused with his earlier bluntness.

They sat down on opposite ends of the sofa and sipped at the tea for a little while before Rich broke the silence, “I don’t mean to be rude Greg, but somehow I don’t think you came here for tea.”

Greg smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes; he could tell by the anxious looks Rich was giving the clock that he was expecting Seb back home at any time and he wanted the police officer gone before he did so.

It was time to lay his cards on the table. He rested his mug on the coffee table, making sure to use a coaster, “One of the officers who responded to the call here earlier, PC Hooper, she asked me to pop round and have a chat off the record. She thinks you’re in danger, Rich.”

The brunette looked down at the floor as he spoke, “Seb’s not dangerous, he’s just got a temper is all. Everybody does.”

Greg exhaled thoughtfully, “Okay, maybe that’s true but there’s a line. Knocking lumps out of the door is one thing but knocking lumps out of you is different.”

Rich’s eyes sought out the damaged door panel and the detective knew he had made his point but the young man remained resolute, “Do I look battered to you, Greg?”

“Maybe not this time, unless the damage is somewhere nobody can see?”

“I know how to handle him.” It was an admission of sorts although vague and easily deniable.

“You walk on eggshells you mean and pray to God nothing sets him off. That’s no life, Rich.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine.”

“Okay,” The detective reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and a pre-printed card detailing his contact information. He wrote ‘Greg’ on the back before replacing the pen and handing the card to Rich, “If you need a way out or to talk, anything then give me a call, yeah? I’ll buy you a coffee to say thanks for the tea.”

“Thank you, Greg,” the Irishman smiled. “That’s kind but I don’t need it.”

Rich tried to give the card back but Greg wouldn’t accept it, “Just keep it somewhere safe, humour me. Please.”

The younger man nodded

Greg sat behind the wheel of his car for a little while just watching, not for anything in particular just observing. Kelley Road wasn’t somewhere he’d like to live but, then again, it was no worse than many other streets in the surrounding area. The detective couldn’t help but feel that Richard- Rich, he corrected himself, didn’t belong on Kelley Road; he lacked the survival instinct. Reluctantly, Greg retrieved his phone from his jacket pocket and called Molly to update her on his progress or lack thereof. He hated to disappoint her but it had always been a long shot.

“Molls? It’s me. I’m sorry but he won’t budge. I can see why you like him though, he’s a handsome man.” He didn’t mention the fact that they had met before.

“Uncle Greg!” She scolded him, scandalised. “Thank you for trying though, it means a lot to me.”

They said their goodbyes and Greg started the engine, heading home to catch up on yet more paperwork and a microwave dinner for one.


End file.
